California Girls

“They’d already rented a truck and they’d given me half the money. I didn’t know how to tell them no.”

She knew it was dumb, but honestly, the thought of telling one more person about the wedding being off was just too depressing. She’d already had to deal with sympathetic words at work and, from her perspective, far too many knowing glances, as if the entire world had suspected Glen wouldn’t go through with the wedding.

“It was easier to let them take the bed. It’s not like I’ve been sleeping there,” she added. “I’ve been sleeping on the couch.”

“Any other furniture disappearing in the next few days?”

“Um, there are a couple more things, but I’ve texted the people to let them know it’s not for sale anymore.” Well, not counting the lady who had bought her kitchen table and chairs. Ali didn’t have a phone number for her, so maybe she wouldn’t show up.

“Okay then.” He got his backpack and returned to the sofa. When he was seated, he pulled out a couple of folders. “Here’s where we are on the rest of the vendors.”

He went over what he’d done. As expected, Daniel had gotten better terms than she would have. She was still going to have to cough up more money than she had, but at least it wasn’t as horrible as it could have been.

“What are you doing about the ring?” he asked. “You could sell it.”

“Aren’t I supposed to return it?”

“Not after what he did. Every state has different laws, but in California, if the breakup is mutual, the ring is returned. When the groom acts like a jackass, you get to keep the ring.”

She grinned. “Good to know.” Her humor faded. “I’m not ready to sell it, but I like knowing I can.”

“I could go shake the money he owes you out of him.”

“Daniel, no. We talked about this. I appreciate all you’re doing for me. You have no idea. But please don’t go beat up your brother. He’s still family and that’s important. I’m figuring it out. Once the dust settles, I can think about what I want to do. I’ve done some research on small claims court. I might go that route.”

“Whatever you decide, I’m here for you.”

“I know.” She flopped back against the sofa and sighed. “You’re so much better than he is. Why didn’t we fall in love?”

Before he could react, she put her hand on his arm. “Kidding. Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaked. I guess it’s just one of those things.”

“It is. All right, I’m going to free you from your wedding canceling duties. I have laundry and then I’m going to depress myself by looking at apartments in my price range.”

“Don’t sign any leases until we talk,” he said as he stood. “I’ll want to check out the neighborhood first.”

She supposed his attitude could have been annoying, but for her, it was heaven. She liked knowing he was around to take care of her. After all she’d been through, having a little caretaking was nice.

“I won’t even put down a deposit,” she promised. “When I find something promising, you’ll be the first to know. I swear.”

“Good.” He pulled her close and kissed her cheek, his stubble tickling. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be at work and reachable.”

“I will.”

She walked him to the door. When he was gone, she again had the thought that things would have gone a whole lot better for her if she’d fallen for Daniel instead of Glen. Fate was sure a bitch with a sense of humor.





Chapter Ten


Monday morning Finola got to the studio extra early. She had a meeting to review the upcoming shows and also needed time to get back into what had been her regular life. The week of her vacation, the station had rerun shows and now they would be live again.

She’d spent the weekend getting ready to fake her way through her life. She’d gotten a spray tan and had a facial. There’d been no more binge eating and Saturday she’d flushed her system with water and vegetable juice. Sunday she’d switched to a low-fat, high-protein diet that she would stay on until she was just shy of scary thin. Only then would she relax about her appearance. It was bad enough that she was a dozen years older than Treasure—Finola refused to be the frumpy wife, as well.

She parked in her usual spot, greeted the security guard and made her way to the studio. She’d worn her favorite jeans, a sloppy-chic T-shirt and big sunglasses, and her hair was pulled back. It was how she always dressed when she started her day. Her large dressing room was filled with her “TV clothes”—lots of dresses and separates that she mixed and matched, a season at a time. Her contract included a generous clothing budget, which Finola appreciated. She never wore her TV clothes outside of the station and when the season ended and new things were purchased, her assistant got to pick one of the outfits for herself. The remainder of her barely worn things were donated to Dress for Success and a local women’s shelter.

“Welcome, Finola,” one of the crew called. “You look great. Hawaii agrees with you.”

She smiled and waved but kept moving. She didn’t want to talk to anyone about her trip. Today was about work, nothing else. She was willing to lie, but she didn’t want to have to sweat a lot of details. Not when the truth would come out eventually.

She reached her dressing room. Rochelle was already waiting for her, looking impossibly young and well dressed as she steamed the dress she’d picked out for Finola to wear that day.

“Good morning,” her assistant said. “How was your vacation?”

“Busy, how was your trip back home?”

Rochelle had flown to North Carolina to be with family. Like Finola, she was one of three sisters. Her father was a minister, her mother an accountant. She was the first daughter in three generations not to go to Howard University, instead attending USC. Her conservative parents were equally unhappy that Rochelle had settled in Los Angeles, instead of returning home to find a good job and settle down.